TO THE RESCUE
The master of Rally Hall and Professor Raymond knitted their brows as
they studied the scrawl. There was absolutely no clue, except that it
bore the Green Haven postmark on the envelope, and had been mailed that
morning.
"One of the boys sent it, without a doubt," went on the professor. "He
knew we were familiar with his handwriting and so printed the letter."
"Might not the writer, whoever he is, have seen Rushton hide the
package, and chosen this method to tell on him?" queried the doctor.
"I would go further than that," said the other slowly. "I believe that
the writer of this note deliberately stole the package and put it in
Rushton's locker, in order to bring disgrace on him."
"It's hard to think that there is such a despicable wretch as that in
Rally Hall," said Doctor Rally, bringing his clenched fist down on his
desk.
"So it is," replied the other, "but to believe that Fred Rushton stole
them is harder yet."
"Who, in the whole body of students, do you believe is capable of such a
thing?" asked the doctor.
"Only one," was the cautious answer, "but, in the total absence of
proof, it wouldn't perhaps be fair to name him."
"I think I know whom you have in mind," rejoined the master. "Here,"
tearing two bits of paper from a sheet on his desk, "in order that our
guess be independent, you write a name on this piece of paper and I will
write on this. Then we will compare."
The professor did so. Then they laid the papers side by side.
Each bore the same name, "Shanks."
"He's a poor stick," mused the doctor, "but I'd hate to think that he'd
sink as low as this. And, of course, so far, it is purely guess work. He
may be as innocent as the driven snow. Has he ever had any trouble with
Rushton?"
"Not that I know of," was the answer, "although at one time I came upon
them when they seemed to have been having words," and Professor Raymond
narrated the affair on the campus.
"Well," Doctor Rally wound up the discussion by saying, "for the
present, we suspend judgment. Keep a sharp eye on both Rushton and
Shanks. I'll not rest until I have probed this thing to the bottom."
In the meantime Fred had gone to his room utterly crushed and
despondent. The whole thing had come on him like a thunderbolt. In half
an hour, from being one of the happiest boys in the school he had become
the most miserable.
It seemed to him as though all his world had fallen into ruins. To be
accused of theft, to be, perhaps, driven in disgrace from Rally Hall, to
have all his relatives and friends know of the awful charge against him!
For a time, he felt that he would go crazy.
Teddy, who was the only one in whom he could confide, was studying when
Fred dragged himself in.
"Oh, Ted," he groaned, as he threw himself down on his bed.
"What's the matter, Fred?" exclaimed Teddy, leaping to his feet in
alarm, as he saw the blank misery in his brother's eyes.
"They think I'm a thief," moaned Fred.
"Who thinks so? What do you mean?" and Teddy fairly shouted.
"Doctor Rally and Professor Raymond," was the answer. "They think I
stole the examination papers."
"Stole! _Stole!_" roared Teddy. "Why, they're crazy! What makes
them think anything like that?"
"They'd been taken from Professor Raymond's desk, and they found them in
my locker."
He blurted out the whole story and Teddy was wild with grief and rage.
But in the absence of the slightest clue, they were unable to do
anything but await events while they ate their hearts out in silence.
A week went by without results. The winter had set in in earnest, and
the lake was coated with ice, thick enough for skating.
Fred had been looking forward to hockey and skating, in both of which he
took great delight. But now, he had little interest in them, and kept as
much as possible to himself.
The boys, of course, saw that something had happened, and did all they
could to cheer him up.
"You've simply got to come to-day, Fred," said Melvin, one bright
December day, bursting into the room, his eyes dancing and his cheeks
glowing with the frost. "It's just one peach of a day, and the ice is as
smooth as glass.
"Nothing doing," he went on, as Fred started to protest. "Come along,
fellows, and we'll rush him down to the lake. A bird that can skate and
won't skate must be made to skate."
"I never heard of a bird skating," objected Fred, but yielded, as the
whole laughing throng closed around him and hurried him out of doors.
Once on the ice, with the inspiring feeling of the skates beneath him,
with the tingling air bringing the blood to his cheeks, and the glorious
expanse of the frozen lake beckoning to him, the "blues" left him for a
time, and he was his natural self again, all aglow with the mere delight
of living.
He had gone around the lower end of the lake, and was making a wide
sweep to return when he passed Andy Shanks and Sid Wilton. They shot a
malicious look at him as they passed, and he saw them whisper to each
other.
Once more he made the circuit of the lake, with long swinging strokes,
his spirits steadily rising as the keen air nipped his face and put him
in a glow from head to foot.
At the northern end of the lake was a bluff about twenty feet high. As
there had been two or three heavy snowfalls already that winter, the top
of the bluff held a mass of snow and ice that was many feet deep. The
wind had hollowed out the lower part of the drifts so that the upper
part overhung the lake for some distance from the shore.
A group of boys, including Andy Shanks and his toady, Sid Wilton, were
playing "snap-the-whip." Shanks had put his "valet," as the boys called
him, at the extreme end, and, although this was the most dangerous point
and Wilton had little relish for it, he had not dared to object to
anything that Andy wanted.
As Fred approached, the "whip" was "snapped"
Skating at full speed, the long line straightened out and Wilton was let
go. He shot away from the others, trying to skirt the edge of the ice so
as to avoid the shore and sweep out into the open. But the space was too
narrow and he went into the bluff with a crash.
He scrambled up, jarred and bruised, and just as he did so, Fred saw the
great overhanging mass of snow on the top of the bluff sway forward.
"Jump!" he yelled. "The snow! Quick! For your lives!"
The other boys looked up and skated from under. Sid made a desperate
lunge forward, but too late. With a sullen roar the snow came down and
buried him from sight.
There were exclamations of fright and horror. Andy skated away,
panic-stricken. Most of the boys lost their heads. Two or three shouted
for help.
Fred alone remained cool. With one motion, he unclamped his skates and
threw them from him. The next instant he had plunged into the tons of
snow and his arms were working like flails as he threw the masses aside.
"Quick, fellows!" he shouted. "Go at it, all of you! He'll smother if we
don't get him out right away!"
Inspired by his example, the others pitched in, working like beavers.
Other boys coming up aided in the work of cleaving a way to their
imprisoned schoolmate.
Their frantic energy soon brought results.
"I touched him then, fellows!" cried Fred. "Hurry, hurry," he added, as
he himself put forth redoubled efforts.
A few minutes more and they had uncovered Sid's head and shoulders. His
eyes were closed and he seemed to be unconscious.
"We're getting him," exulted Fred, forgetful of his hands that were torn
and bleeding from tearing at the ice mixed with the snow.
He grabbed Sid under the arms.
"Now, fellows," he cried, "get hold of me and when I say pull----"
But just then there was a startled cry:
"Look out! There's more coming!"
Fred looked up and saw that another enormous mass was slipping slowly
over the edge.
The other boys jumped back, but Fred remained. He tugged frantically,
putting forth all his strength. One more desperate pull and he fell back
on the ice, dragging Sid with him. At the same instant a tremendous mass
of snow came down, one heavy block of ice just grazing him where he lay,
panting and breathless.
"Fred, old boy, that was a grand thing for you to do!" cried Melvin, who
with Teddy had just come up; and the sentiment was echoed by all the
others who clustered admiringly around him.
"Oh, that was nothing," disclaimed Fred. "We've got to get a hustle on
now and take him to the Hall."
They carried the unconscious Sid to his dormitory, and medical aid was
called at once. The doctor worked over him vigorously, and was soon able
to predict that in a day or two he would be all right again.
Fred took a hot bath and changed into other clothes, and had soon shaken
off all the shock of the accident.
He had barely finished supper when a message was brought to him that Sid
wanted to see him.
He went at once, without any thought of what awaited him.